The other day I really wanted a traveller pie. I’d been watching my calorie intake and felt I could get away with the local bakery’s famous travellers with their crispy pastry containing two thirds of the meat of a regular pie. It’s junk food, but it’s not much junk food. It’s junk food you can eat it without hating yourself. So I went down to the bakery and started looking for a park. Cars travel slowly on the road to the bakery because there are a lot of speed humps. As I was driving I saw a woman, maybe around 75, standing at the edge of a speed hump directly in front of me. I knew what was happening – she’d confused the markings on the speed hump for the markings of a zebra crossing.
As soon as she determined to cross, I stopped the car and waited for her to get to the other side. Once she was there, I took off again. I was about 10 metres down the road when this angry guy comes from behind the parked cars on the side of the street. He was shaking his head, muttering and pointing in my direction. So I stopped the car and asked if he was talking to me. He said, “No”.
OK.
So I took off again. And as soon as I did, he started yelling that I should have stopped for the lady.
He had a German accent. That’ll become important later. So I yelled back, saying I did stop for the lady. And the lady yelled at the German – confirming I had stopped for her. But that wasn’t good enough for the German. He kept shouting in my direction as I continued searching for a park. I found one about 30 metres down the road and when I got out of the car, I expected to see the German waiting for me, ready to resume hostilities. But he’d disappeared.
So I started walking along the footpath to the bakery, hoping the local tradies hadn’t bought out all the travellers for their morning tea, when I noticed a 2023 Range Rover Sport (retail $131,000) driving alongside me. For about 10 seconds, the Range Rover hummed by my side. I tried to ignore it. But it wasn’t going anywhere. If this had been a Scorsese film, someone in a black leather jacket would’ve leapt out and thrown me in the back. But what happened next was probably worse. The passenger window glided down and an elegant woman casually asked: “Are you OK?” Then she smiled. But I knew she wasn’t asking after my welfare. She had a German accent which meant she was probably related to “the German”. Also, “Are you OK?” followed by a smile is such a solid burn because it implied I’d been a hothead. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. Being characterised as a hothead immediately makes one’s head hot - thus proving the assertion. But she wasn’t finished. With a smiley, flirty tone, she then said: “You sink you’re a big man, don’t you? Gettink into fights in zee street?” No notes on the follow up, either. Using a flirty tone to deliver insults is textbook dunking. And before I could even think of returning fire, her passenger window glided back up and she drove off. She didn’t dramatically skid off, either. She just gathered speed at an orthodox rate illustrating that her pulse hadn’t climbed above 60 during the whole exchange. Meanwhile, mine was now hovering at around 180.
What a turnaround it had been for the Germans. I’d palmed the first one off like I was Dustin Martin circa 2021 - but the second flung me to the ground with no desire to protect my head, clearly breaching her duty of care.
I was shaky when I got to the bakery. Fortunately, my trip hadn’t been in vain. There were two travellers left. I only needed one. I arrived home without incident and tipped the contents of the paper bag onto a plate and got a bottle of sauce. But when I returned from the fridge, I noticed something about the the traveller wasn’t right. It was less puffy and had a vaguely different scent. That was because it wasn’t a traveller at all, but a fucking sausage roll.
I was inconsolable. All they had to do was pick up a traveller and put it in a bag. And they’d failed. I thought of going back and exchanging it. But I knew the remaining travellers would’ve sold out and I didn’t want to deal with more jaywalkers or Germans.
So, with an empty heart, I sat down and ate the miserable, dehydrated sausage roll.
And, you know what… it was actually alright. But I’m still not over it.
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It's been a long day, my old good boy dog is staying at the vet's overnight, I've had a bit of a cry, hell it's been a bloody long week, I'm collateral damage in my partner's divorce, I've just caught up on the latest Ted Lasso, I've had 5 beers, considering a 6th, switched back to the footy and Tigers actually lost, they were comfortably ahead when I diverted to Ted, but they're only my 2nd team anyway, I'm already enduring the pain of Carlton's hope, I really need to break the seal, my cat's vocalising either his playful contempt or affection and my pup is falling for it. Anyways, my night has been touched by your Germans and bakery debacle and I can't thank you enough Adam. Cheers.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA